


Call of the Hunt

by Speakeasysyn



Series: Fox Tales [3]
Category: Inception (2010), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondception, Bondlock, Bondlockception, Crossover, M/M, and little Hugo, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakeasysyn/pseuds/Speakeasysyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Christmas Eve dinner turns into a nightmare for the British Government, the London Metropolitan Police Service, a Consulting Detective, two world class criminals and MI-6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foxes Trapped in the Their Den

"Well, this is certainly turning into a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner. Wouldn't you agree?" Mycroft Holmes mused, flexing his fingers around the dark wooden arm rests.

Everyone was seated along a large and rather long and beautifully carved wooden table covered in a Christmas spread to be jealous of. From ham, to puddings, to rolls, to some kind of fancy little tarts, to cake, to pie, the table itself was barely seen under all of the food, numerous empty plates, clean utensils, glasses, and half consumed drinks. Mycroft was sitting at the head of the table, Mummy absent due to her arriving on Christmas day, he had a pleased look on his face as he looked to his left at Greg Lestrade. The detective inspector was glancing from person to person, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and itching to scratch at a spot on his arm from his tailored suit.

To Lestrade's left was Sherlock Holmes who looked less than pleased to be there. In some sort of childish protest he was wearing his blue scarf along with a more expensive tailored suit. His pale, sharp eyes were fixed straight ahead and he didn't move a muscle. Next, down the line was John Watson. He was Sherlock's guest and trying his best to keep calm, his face twitching occasionally into a panicked discomfort. John wasn't the only one with a sour look because right next to his left at the end of that side of the table was Hugo Holmes. The baby of the family but almost just as sharp, the poor lad was sitting stick straight against his chair, feet still unable to touch the ground his eyes flitted about anxiously to his older siblings and their guests.

Across from Hugo was his fourth older brother's guest and newly announced boyfriend James Bond, MI-6 agent. His stony expression never faltered no matter the tense situation and he sat back in his chair, only moving a hair for adjustment in comfort as he tried to assess the situation as calmly as possible. To James' left was the fourth born Holmes son, Q. Due to Q's involvement with Her Majesty's Services he has forgone introducing himself by his name and instead uses his code name given by MI-6. Q for Quartermaster and his brothers, begrudgingly, followed suit for his protection. Q was slightly slumped over in his chair and limp.

To Q's left was his elder brother's guest and boyfriend Eames. Due to Eames' profession he preferred not to be called anything else and always introduced himself with a charming, crooked smile as such. Most of what he did was considered "illegal" and "criminal" and he was sure he was wanted in at least several different countries. Much like Eames, Arthur Holmes, older twin to Q, was also considered a "criminal" and did some "illegal" things concerning dream sharing. He tried his luck at the straight and narrow by joining the army but to no avail, found a better profession as a point man. Unlike his brothers, he was raised in America and sounded nothing like the English gentleman his brothers were raised to be (a story for another time). Both men were white knuckling the wooden arm rests of their chairs with Arthur's nails biting at the wood and leaving small raked trails of splintering wood under his nails. 

But there was something not alike with the previous dinners they have had. It wasn't about the gathering of them all in the same place, it wasn't even a new added guest to the table. Every one of them was tied tightly to their chairs, pistols held to their heads by men dressed from head to toe in combat gear and armed with semi-automatic weapons.

The man holding a pistol to Mycroft's head cocked the gun and held it closer making Lestrade twitchy in this hostile takeover.

"Keep your mouth shut Mr. Holmes or you'll end up like your little brother." The gunman chided, Sherlock trying to discern his unique accent and having as much trouble discerning it as he did with Eames when they first met.  Arthur jostled his chair when the gunman standing by Q grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back hard, a sick knock of skull against wood making Hugo visibly wince. The younger man was still unresponsive and the trail of blood running down his face now visible under a broken lense. James did not visibly flinch but inside he was boiling over in a white hot rage as his eyes trained themselves on the muzzle of the gun being pressed to Q's throat.

"Please," Mycroft started calmly, "Tell me what you want so we can all have a happy Christmas."

A man in a trench coat was standing in front of the fireplace, arms behind his back. He smiled and glanced back the Holmes family and their guests, his men and the snow pelting the windows.

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes.  That's why we're here."


	2. The Sky is Falling

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes.  That's why we're here." The man spoke softly, "But you aren't the one we have need for." He sharply turned at the heel and walked past Mycroft's right side.

Passing Arthur, he made sure to get as close as possible to enrage the other twin even further, going so far as to quickly tap him on the shoulder as he swiftly moved past him, Eames and came to a quick stop to Q, having his henchman move back so he could pull Q's chair out. He was strong, though didn't look it with all that leather and bulk, but he seemed to have no issues in turning an already heavy wooden chair with dead weight sitting in it.

Q's head rolled and smacked against the back of the chair again, Arthur trying to kick his own chair to try and get a better look. James strained his eyes to watch as the man popped the first button open on Q's dress shirt, removing the bow tie in one fluid tug, his leather clad fingers ghosting down pale, unblemished skin. Eames sat stone still every time the man bumped against his chair. Just like James and just like Arthur, he could hear the soft hums and noises the man kept emitting as he thoroughly examined Q.

Now, that's just the right side. The left side of Mycroft was just as, if not, worse. The right side could only feed off the sounds and the expressions their table mates opposite them were experiencing. John's lips curled into a  frown, wanting to shout at the man and get him to stop. But then he remembered Sherlock's outburst from before when they were all taken hostage. That was what earned Q a hard pistol whipping to the head in the first place. Sherlock was silent, expressionless, Lestrade was almost impressed at how someone was able to get the consulting detective to stay quiet, but then again this was his family. Sherlock couldn't be entirely heartless.

Hugo had his eyes clamped shut, just as the man had pulled out Q's chair, Sherlock had nudged the smaller boy's chair with his leg. It was a sign for Hugo not to watch and Hugo knew he didn't want to watch.

Then suddenly, the sound of something being untied and Hugo's eyes opened to the sight of Q being freed by one of the gunmen and to his horror being scooped up into the arms of the trench coat wearing man.

"James...five more minutes..." Q slurred in his sleep, no longer unconscious. James had closed his eyes, his head turning slightly away as he heard footsteps move closer to him. The table suddenly rattled, utensils askew from Arthur's knee hitting the underside of the table hard when he finally got a glimpse of his twin brother in the arms of their captor. Eames finally turned his head slightly to look at Arthur, trying to mouth "calm down", but that only earned him a hand coming to grab his head to look straight ahead.

"Isn't he adorable? He thinks I'm...you, Mister Bond." The way he said "mister" made James cringe internally. It was a familiar, but he couldn't pin down the true origin.

"Oh, let me make a joke. You like jokes, yes?" A sneer cracked along the ridges of the trench coat wearing man as he leaned in to James' ear.

"I believe this will be Skyfall alllll over again, Agent Double-oh-seven." James' eyes were wide but before he could turn his head to look he was face to face with no one. The trench coat billowed out behind the man, Q's limp body in his arms. No one else seemed to understand the severity of those words as a trench coat, three gun men and a quartermaster exited the room. Five gunmen remained, four in the corners, one stationed by Mycroft, all trained at their heads.

This time the utensils jumped from their spots, plates clattered, glass shattered against the floor and taller arrangements of food spilled over as the table collided with James' knee. Just once. It made everyone in the room flinch as James strained at his ropes and cringed at the dull pain he felt, not ample enough self punishment for what he had done. It was a realization too late.

Raoul Silva. Apparently not all of his men were dead and his ghost, commanding them from the grave, was alive and well inside them to rain hell fire on this now chilly Christmas Eve dinner.


	3. The Foxes Penned Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where everyone gets separated and Arthur still dislikes Mycroft.

There was a thick blindfold over James and Sherlock's eyes as they were walked at gun point to another room, separated from the others.

Sherlock was counting the steps, listening for sounds, those familiar creaks in the floor or a small draft from a window, anything that would help him discern where he was. He could have fought back, should have, but his wrists were bound by a plastic zip-tie and it was cutting off blood to his fingers. James was no better off. Every step he took, he knew he was one step farther from helping Hugo, from helping Q.

For once they had it all planned. James and Q were planning to sneak off with Hugo and having a nice quiet remainder of whatever they could salvage from Christmas. Some wonder, why bring Hugo as well and ruin a couples Christmas? Hugo was never with the family originally. Due to certain circumstances he had lived with an aunt and uncle in Paris, France. When they had their unfortunate passing, Hugo was shipped back to London where he was placed in the care of his mother and older brother Q. This was all before Q joined MI-6 and was still in school. Q was the consistent, immediate blood relative in Hugo's young life and they both stuck together when Q eventually moved out and got his position as Quartermaster at MI-6. Adding James into their cozy little home just made things more lively and Hugo has started to see his brother  and James as his parental figures. He was looking forward to their first Christmas together and opening presents. James had gotten Hugo an old antique toy train from Germany after a mission and Q had managed to find some old WWI fighter plane models off the recesses of the internet.

Hugo started to cry, not loudly, but soft sniffles. Tears pricked his eyes and seeped into the blindfold as he clung to Eames' large hand. Eames was fortunate enough to have his hands unbound, but the pistol trained at his spine made it hard for any hope of escape, especially with Hugo in tow. Eames tried to scrunch his face just a bit to get a glimpse of where he was, but received a jab to the back with a cocked pistol. John was right in front of them, blindfolded and hands bound and hesitant as he continued to walk until he was told to turn into a room.

All John wanted was a civil Holmes Christmas Eve dinner, pleasant gift exchange in the morning without a gun being pointed and then some take away for when he got home with Sherlock to 221B. But no, because nothing was ever "normal" when you knew someone with the name "Holmes".

Eames on the other hand was just expecting loud, alone time with Arthur as soon as the dust cleared, regardless of the circumstances. A few guns here and there certainly lived up the event, but knowing Arthur's youngest brother was clinging with a vice grip to his own hand and crying from confusion and fear angered Eames greatly. Though Eames did what he did and has seen what he has seen, he would never wish this upon any child. Arthur sometimes called him a softy, a big teddy bear when they were alone or when Eames was around his family and Arthur was right. Eames could relax, make others smile, have them relax too. This was anything but relaxing and this was anything but smiles.

The only three left in the dining room were Mycroft, Arthur, and Lestrade. The fire was at a low flame, orange bleeding across the floor and glinting off Arthur's eyes as he glared straight ahead.

"What. The hell. Is Skyfall?" Arthur's words were venomous and it almost looked like as if he was directing his words to Lestrade who, for all intents and purposes,  was pretty sure that question was not meant for him, but wasn't quite sure the way Arthur's glare seemed to bore through his skull. Mycroft cleared his throat, glancing at the empty stations the guards had abandoned for whatever reason. He assumed the facilities and took the opportunity to speak.

"And why would you think I'd know, dear brother?" Mycroft almost sounded bored.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about you asshole!" Arthur snapped his gaze straight at Mycroft. "I know you're government. And I am not your brother." Lestrade flinched at the comment, looking at Mycroft who seemed unfazed.

"Well if that is how you are planning on going about it, then I see no reason to tell a criminal." Arthur was grinding his teeth in frustration and Lestrade found the courage to speak up.

"I _may_ not have _any_ idea as to what is going on, but does that have anything to do with MI-6's headquarters being blown up some months backs?" Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed, Arthur's eyes slowly preying on Lestrade.

"And where did you hear this?" Mycroft inquired.

"Ah, Sherlock had some notes on his desk--"

"Of course he did, brilliant." Mycroft was _thrilled_.

"Well yea, notes and it was from, uhh your brother Arthur," Lestrade glanced at Arthur, "Uh his name is Q? It just said "Skyfall" on the note signed with a Q in the corner. Didn't know who that was until I got here to this party and he introduced himself as an MI-6 employee. Seemed like a stretch..." Mycroft could only smile sheepishly.

"Very astute, Greg. One of the many qualities I favor in yo--" Mycroft's praise was cut off by an angry growl from Arthur.

"Will you shut the fuck up and just answer me?!" Mycroft had to roll his eyes.

"Just like a child, are you sure you're the older twin, Arthur?" If looks could kill, Mycroft would have been dead thrice over.

"Skyfall is a file name used for an ex-agent who had a vendetta against MI-6. Your brother, our brother, Q had just started as Quartermaster at the time and was already waist deep in the mess. That James Bond was already drowning in the situation. In the end it was resolved, or so we thought."

"And?" Arthur asked, still not appeased in the slightest.

"And, Arthur, I can only assume Agent Bond did not finish the job entirely." Mycroft looked at Arthur indignantly. "Happy?"

Arthur glanced away, chewing on his lower lip in thought as they were all joined by the two gunmen from before. The click of the door handle and the creak of the door was dampened by a loud, agonizing scream that made Arthur's blood run ice cold. His body trembled and he shut his eyes tight. Arthur could feel it in his bones, his body, his _shared_ body. Mycroft wasn't one to believe in the debated connections between twins, never being able to see it first hand with his own brothers, but Arthur's viral reaction gave him the bone chilling belief that Q was anything but alright and that they were running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this one is a little bumpy. I'm in the middle of finals so forgive the rocky chapter.


	4. Escaped but Not Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sherlock is still an ass.

Blood pooled through Q's pant leg, his hands sticky red as he squeezed just above the wound as best he could with trembling hands. Without a proper tourniquet he would most likely bleed out. Half hour, twenty minutes? Numbers and equations flew through his mind as he glanced up at his captors, he didn't have long to diffuse the situation. If he could diffuse the situation.

The man in the long black trench coat prowled around Q who was sitting in a chair, it teetered as Q shuddered from the pain shooting up his spine when his hands didn't quite keep enough pressue. He was situated in front of three monitors, none of which the same brand, haphazardly connected together with exposed cords and with a derelict keyboard sitting in front of them.

"Well then, Quartermaster, will you do as I ask or will the next bullet be through the double-oh agent?"

Q pierced his lips tight and looked down at his leg.

"The boy?"

There was a long silence and a toothed grin was smeared across the trench coat wearing man's face as keys clicked away under sticky red fingers. Q was breaking so many protocols with hostages at stake, MI-6 being compromised, all the other double-oh agents out in the field, but most importantly his family. God, he hated these family gathers, but by that same god he wasn't about to risk their lives. It was family over Queen and Country. Surely MI-6 would understand. They better understand. They will understand.

At least that's what Q told himself as he remotely accessed his own computer files.

\--

"Worthless."

"Excuse me?" James lifted his head to Sherlock's muttering, assuming the comment was meant for him since they were left alone in some room in some random section of the house with their blindfolds still on and now tied to chairs, bound by the wrists and ankles.

"I said worthless, aren't you _trained_ to listen or is MI-6 as incompetent as they seem?" Sherlock snapped.

"Are you calling your own brother incompetent then?" James calmly asked, he could see Sherlock scoff even blind.

"Of course I am. He's the most incompetent of them all. How he keeps everyone alive is amazing, really."

"Well if you took the time to step down from your pedestal you might see how talented he really is." James turned his head to speak at Sherlock.

"Coming from a biased opinion."

"You really are a cock."

"Is that what he calls me?" Sherlock smiled.

"Every time you send Hugo home at the brink of tears. And no, that is what I call you. You're an insufferable prick."

"And what gives you the right to make that judgment, Mr. Bond?"

"It's a part of my job to judge, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock didn't find the need to grace James with a reply. It was beneath him.

"You care about him though. Both of them." James spoke softly. Sherlock turned his head towards the sound of James moving around in his chair as if to escape.

"Care? Caring is dangerous, Mr. Bond. You of all people should know that." The ropes binding James' hands snapped and fell to the floor with a thud.

"Caring is dangerous. You should see Q when he gets angry. He has a bit of a trigger finger with that laptop of his." Another snap and James was able to move his legs again, standing up and stretching quickly before moving over to remove the blindfold from Sherlock's face. Sherlock was positively peeved.

"A small, but durable blade in the cuff link? How creative." Sherlock said grimly as his hands were freed.

"I'll make sure to tell Q when we find him. Hugo as well. They are brilliant, those two." Sherlock rolled his eyes and undid the ropes around his ankles himself. He stood up, dusted off his tuxedo and walked past James.

"We're going this way." Sherlock walked towards an empty fireplace.

"You don't have the slightest clue where any of those guards are or where any of the others might be. Why should I follow a mad man like you?" James patted down his jacket to see if Q had snuck in anything else on his person. With his Walther confiscated he was unarmed, but at least they couldn't shoot it. Palm print reader. Thank you, Q.

"Like I said, Mr. Bond. This way." Sherlock lightly kicked a brick on the side of the fireplace and it slowly moved back. Sherlock stepped away as the fireplace swung open like a door, James refused to acknowledge Sherlock's achievement as he briskly walked forward and into the secret tunnel.

"You're welcome." Sherlock said mockingly behind James, the fireplace closing as quietly as it had opened and the brick moving back into place.

\--

James was grudgingly followed behind Sherlock who lead the way through the underground passages of the house. They didn't lead to any old mine like his old home Skyfall, did. Instead it was a well constructed series of sturdy brink lined tunnels that seemed to lead under the house and under the gardens.

"Father was always cautious. They lead to an old abandoned shack somewhere in the woods. Not exactly unpredictable." Sherlock mused as he crouched to get under a low door way.

"It seems none of your family is unharmed by your blatant scrutiny."

"Why should they? They _are_ my family. You certainly wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?" James stared at Sherlock bewildered. He had every right to be furious with this bloody prick in front of him, yet he was so focused on the fact Sherlock was indeed the most tactless and shrewd individual he had ever met the idea of even being angry was but an afterthought.

"I have a family." James said coldly.

"No, you _had_ a family." Sherlock corrected which received him a swift shove to the side, James' hand was a vice against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I _have_ a family." James corrected back and walked ahead of Sherlock. Sherlock scoffed, a mumbled word of "sentiment" escaping his lips as James stopped and looked down at his shoe that was suddenly vibrating. Sherlock watched as James took off his shoe to inspect where the vibration was coming from.  James turned the shoe over to look at the heel and gently pushed at the side to reveal a false bottom that held an ear piece.

"Clever, clever Q." James smiled and put in the ear piece after disconnecting it from a small plug, the vibrating immediately stopped.

"Double-oh-seven." James spoke calmly, as usual, there was static in the background but the voice was familiar.

"Double-oh-seven, what the bloody hell is going on?!" It was M, Mallory, and he was not pleased.

"Well it can't be all that bad, sir. I assume Q has informed you somehow?" James was blindsided by a hard shove from Sherlock who kept on moving.

"Somehow? Double-oh-seven, he's bypassing his own firewalls in MI-6. They only reason we know it's even him is because he used his own employee ID and password from an unregistered computer. You said you'd both be on holiday, this is not what you specified in your request for time off." James followed behind Sherlock, trying to assess the situation.

"How fast is he going through his firewalls?"

"According to the rest of Q branch, very slowly. They said he's purposely falling into the most simple of pitfalls they throw at him and he's, so far, only scratching the surface."

"So nothing about anyone in the field?"

"Not yet, but it looks like he's buying time. One word though is continuously popping up in his coding and I'm sure it's meant for you."

"And that is?" Sherlock had stopped to try and push up a false panel that was not budging.

"Skyfall."

James' blood ran cold as he stopped in his tracks. Sherlock turned around, ready to make some snide comment about James' age getting the better of him until he saw the distinct, but subtle emotion of fear on the double-oh agents face.

\--

_"Now Hugo, I want you to recite what the words mean, alright? It's important." Q instructed carefully. Hugo nodded and stared back at his brother, ready for any question. James sat next to Hugo on the couch, watching the prideful boy sit stick straight with anticipation._

_"Alright, what does 'Skyfall' stand for?"_


	5. A Bear, a Hound, a Stag and two Foxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, everyone is brought back together.

"Shh, it'll be alright, Hugo. Don't cry now, poppet." Eames held the boy close as he and John were sitting up against a wall, two guns pointed in their general direction. Eames had covered Hugo with his large suit jacket to keep him warm or to help comfort him as they sat there waiting and wondering. They had heard the distant bang of a gunshot but it was stifled by the numerous corridors and walls.

Hugo had feared the worst and that his brother had been hurt or worse, killed. He had cried a lot louder, louder than usually allowed in the presence of his other brothers. One of the gunmen raised an arm to silence Hugo by striking him, but was blocked  by Eames. He used himself as a shield between Hugo and the other man, towering over him with a smile.

"Now I'm going to be fair and not attack back for trying to assault a smile child, pet. Now lower your arm." The gunman found himself lowering his arm at the calm request. Eames gently nudged Hugo to go sit by John against the wall and he did the same.

The gunmen seemed to have given them some freedoms. They were unbound and were able to speak softly, but of course not an escape plan because that would just be silly, as Eames put it ever so sweetly.

"So, you're with the tall scrawny looking one with dark hair?" Eames dried some of Hugo's tears with his tie and John looked up at him in surprise.

"Uh, yeah. John Watson. And you are...?"

"Eames."

"Eames?"

Eames nodded and John blinked in confusion.

"You...what do you do then?"

"Well I'm not an army doctor from the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers ranked at Captain, but I manage. Though I have been hit in the shoulder. Stings, doesn't it?" Eames smiled, John blinked quickly.

"Wha--wait, how did you know that?"

"It _is_ public record, right?"

"Well, ye- no. _No_ , it isn't entirely public record. _How_ in the world did you know where I got shot?"

"Well I'm certainly not that tall inquisitive fellow, but I have my sources, pet." Eames glanced at John with a crooked smile. John could only blink furiously to try and find that one question that will be answered clearly.

"Inquisitive? You mean Sherlock? He just deduced it when we first met and how did you know that..?"

"Like I said. I have my sources." Eames kept smiling and Hugo chuckled, seeing through Eames' game.

"Are you going to tell me what you even do then or do I have to guess?" John was at his wits end with Eames and his paisley shirt.

"Depends if you call on that detective inspector on me. Can't be seen with such a person of high authority or the MI-6 agent either."

"So what you do is illegal?"

Eames shrugged and smiled as Hugo laughed again. John just gave up on asking.

"I do what I need to in order to make a living, mate. That's all. I'm sure you understand? Though if you'd like a list of my hobbies I'll tell you now, I enjoy boxing." John looked up at Eames and nodded. It wasn't as if what he and Sherlock did was lucrative or by any definition "legal" for the police either. Still, Eames was mysterious to John and although he wanted to know more, Eames gave off the air of someone you didn't want to meet in a dark alley way, but would be delighted to accept an invitation for tea from.

\--

_"Now Hugo, I want you to recite what the words mean, alright? It's important." Q instructed carefully. Hugo nodded and stared back at his brother, ready for any question. James sat next to Hugo on the couch, watching the prideful boy sit stick straight with anticipation._

_"Alright, what does 'Skyfall' stand for?"_

_"When any of us are hurt or unable to escape we use the word 'Skyfall'." Hugo recited, "If I'm hurt or in trouble I find any way to contact you first, then James."_

_"And if you can't get to us?" Q asked calmly._

_"I contact M or Miss Moneypenny or Mr. Tanner."_

_"Good."Q sighed with relief and James pulled Hugo in a loose one arm hug. Hugo looked up at James with inquisitive eyes and James looked back down._

_"But what if you guys need to use that word? What do I do then?"_

_James blinked and looked at Q, Q looked back and frowned slightly with a nod. James looked back down at Hugo and pulled him onto his lap for a proper hug._

_"We'll handle that, Hugo. If it comes down to it you might have to stay with one of your other brothers for a while." James spoke softly as Hugo frowned._

_"Won't you come back?"_ If James only knew back then what that thump in his chest meant now.

_"We will."James lied through his teeth._

_\--_

_"Why'd you say that to him? You agreed we needed to be honest." Q pressed up against James in bed, resting his head in the crook of James' shoulder._

_"I couldn't, Q."_

_"The great Agent Double-oh-Seven is unable to lie to a small boy?"Q tried to laugh at his own joke, but could only manage a sad smile. James pressed a soft kiss to Q's forehead._

_"I couldn't..."_

_"It's only for extreme emergencies." Q sighed softly, kissing James before removing his own glasses. James plucked them from Q's hand and placed them on the night stand as he simultaneously moved to press Q down into the bed and kiss him again._

_"I pray to Queen and Country that you will never have to use it."_

_"The same for you, Double-oh-seven."_

\--

The room John, Eames and Hugo were in was small, somewhere on the first floor judging by the well trimmed hedges peeking above the window sill. There was a large oil painting on one wall, an expensive sofa sitting in front of it with a coffee table in between. It was some sort of parlor but judging by the smattering of dust it goes unused at times. Both gunmen were leaning against the sofa, listening to the chatter on their ear pieces.

Suddenly the large painting moved, opened even, like a door being swung open. Eames and John tried hard not to stare in confusion as a long leg in custom tailored suit pants stuck itself out and softly touched the carpeted floor. Soon one leg became a matching set, then another set in equal tailoring, but slightly dusted at the knees, then some choking noises. Very ghastly choking noises and a Consulting Detective and Secret Agent glaring at one another while they choked the life out of the gunmen.

Eames quickly covered Hugo's ears and John watched in horror as Sherlock and James used their respective neck ware as garrotes. The horrible thing about the image in front of them was that James and Sherlock were not just glaring at one another, but with an intensity so childish it was as if it was a competition between two seven year olds.

 James was the first to have his gunman on the floor, except he was dead as John did a quick pulse check and made the grim announcement. Sherlock scoffed which earned him a scolding look from John. The double-oh agent stared at the corpse in front of him with a look of accomplishment as he put his tie back on.

"That was for Hugo." James smirked proudly. He moved around the couch just in time for Hugo to unlatch himself from Eames and go at him with a running hug. James gave Hugo's temple a quick kiss and hugged him back tightly. Sherlock scowled at the closeness between the two.

"Sorry I'm late, your brother tripped me on the way here. And he is a bit of a prick." Hugo clung to James with all his might as Sherlock picked up his unconscious gunman's silenced pistol, though it was quickly confiscated by Eames. Sherlock's eyes darted down to the paisley shirt.

"Let the pros handle this one, darling. Arthur tells me you're a crack shot and a general menace with a firearm." Eames gave a crooked smile as he checked over the pistol. Sherlock gave a disgusted look at everything that was Eames. John rolled his eyes and sighed as he felt the oncoming storm.

"I can assume Arthur found you in a ditch somewhere." Hugo glared at Sherlock for his insult, but the detective paid the boy no mind. Eames snorted and gestured to himself with a bow.

"On the contrary, love, he found me in his dreams." Eames reflected with a dreamy smile. Sherlock's gaze went from paisley shirt to crooked teeth, to slicked back hair, to paisley, to hands, to paisley, to teeth, to paisley again. Reading Eames was making Sherlock's brain hemorrhage. 

"Alright ladies, calm down." John said flatly, he had already picked up the dead gunman's pistol to check over the amount of ammunition left. Sherlock wanted to handle a gun, but neither Eames nor John were willing to risk it. James was especially against the idea. Sherlock proceeded to pout and Hugo stuck his tongue out at him.

As they slowly opened the door to inspect the hall way, Eames stood over the unconscious gunman and fired a round into his head with the silenced pistol. It was a quick pop that made the others spin around to look at Eames. Eames smiled lopsidedly back at them.

"Just being thorough."

Blood slowly pooled around the man's head as they all left the room in search of the remaining family members. 


	6. Secrets Under the Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q leaves them some early Christmas presents.

The man in the trench coat hummed to himself as he held a walkie-talkie to his ear. The chatter on the other side seemed frantic to Q as he glanced back. Did something happen? Was someone else hurt? Q was barely able to focus with his light headedness even though the bleeding had slowed somewhat.

He continued to type away quickly but as inefficiently as possible. He wasn't stupid and the man in the trench coat knew that, so why was he giving Q what seemed like all the time in the world?

"Hmm, curious. It seems to be that two of our captives have escaped. How thrilling!" he smiled and looked at Q. The quartermaster glanced up, a flame of doubt sparked inside him. Go ahead, say it. Say you shot my family in cold blood or how you beat their brains in with the butt of a pistol. Try me.

"The tall one with dark hair and Agent Double-oh-seven, in case you were curious." Q internally smiled to himself that James had managed to escape, the small flame of doubt snuffed out, but then he had to grimace because James was with Sherlock and Sherlock was probably being Sherlock and that was just upsetting the mood.

"Oh, little Q. It seems your attack dog has been let loose. Hopefully he gets here in time." It was like he was singing, mocking Q as he walked over and pressed the muzzle of the gun into Q's leg, making him groan in agony, blood bubbling around the barrel.

"Y-you'll never beat him. If Double-oh-Seven can beat Silva, he can beat you too." Q bit down hard on his lip to steady himself, but the man pushed down harder and pulled Q's head back by his hair.

"Oh, how dedicated. How charming you are, little Quartermaster. Well, I've given you enough time to play cat and mouse with your MI-6 and now I'd like you to hurry up." The man pulled the gun away slowly making Q moan softly out of relief, he glared up at him past stray fallen dark curls.

"You and what bloody army?" Q hissed, the man laughed and pulled out a small radio.

"The army that has already surrounded your home, little Q." He smiled warmly and pulled Q to stand with a violent tug. His bad leg buckled under his weight, but Q managed to limp the rest of the way the trench coat wearing man wanted. Q swallowed hard at the pain in his leg and the sight of a small mercenary group outside the window.

"Look at them all, standing in rows like ducks, all waiting for my command."

"You mean Silva's command. His ghost..."

"And now you have a name for me! You may call me Fantasma." This "Fantasma" seemed very pleased at the nickname he just gave himself. Q grit his teeth and tried to get his footing before speaking.

"Spanish for ghost. How appropriately cheesy." Q received a sharp kick to the leg, making him fall to the floor in a heap. He grabbed at his leg and trembled, tears pricking at his eyes.

\--

Eames peeked around the corner and with no sign of anyone, gestured for everyone to move forward. James had opted to stay in the middle of the group with Hugo on his back, Sherlock behind him grudgingly and John taking the tail end.

"This the way, poppet?" Eames glanced over James' shoulder to look at Hugo who nodded.

"Yes. This leads back to the dining room." Eames nodded back and the group moved on until they reached the large double doors. Eames knelt down and tried to peek through the crack between the doors. The room was silent and from what he could see there was only Arthur, that rigid older brother and the police officer in the room.

Sherlock though, impatient as always, shoved Eames aside and peeked through the crack.

"They look calm for hostages, especially Lestrade. They seem to be free of guards."

"And how are you so sure, love?" Eames asked as he moved out of the way. John quietly apologized on behalf of Sherlock, again.

"Slouched shoulders, more relaxed postures, if there were guards Lestrade would be more tense, on a higher alert due to adrenaline. Arthur would be the same, he isn't fidgety, he get's fidgety. Did you notice? I think it's having a detective inspector, two MI-6 employees and a member of the British Government that makes him so twitchy." Sherlock spoke with the speed of an electric shock.

"Sherlock." John warned in annoyance.

"Right, right." Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the doors almost ceremoniously. Arthur quickly turned his head and looked at Sherlock angrily, Mycroft was not amused and Lestrade still didn't know how to make heads or tails of the hostage situation when said hostages were free.

"About time you got your ass here, Eames! Untie me _now_!!" Eames just smiled and trotted over to untie Arthur's ropes, but missed a kiss to the cheek when Arthur shot up from his seat.

"Where in the world do you think you're going?" Mycroft droned, glancing at Arthur as John undid his ropes and James undid Lestrade's.

"To go find Q, you uncaring son of a bitch!"

"I'll have you know we all have the same mother, Arthur."Sherlock chimed in. Mycroft shook his hands to get the blood flowing back into them. Arthur was fuming.

"Look, I know I'm not like the rest of you, but that doesn't mean you need to act like some stuck up asshole to me every time we meet!"

"Well if you weren't so hostile, _brother_ , then maybe we wouldn't have such confrontations." Mycroft stood up and scowled at Arthur, making the other step back unconsciously.

"Don't call me tha--"

"What? Don't call you _brother_? What else should we _not_ call you if all you do is whine about how we don't treat you like a brother? It isn't our fault you ended up as the black sheep--"

"Don't you fucking start Sherlock! I'm not the only black sheep in this goddamned family!"

"I certainly hope you aren't accusing me of such a thing!" Sherlock faked being appalled.

"Maybe I fucking am. _Consulting detective_." Arthur hissed.

"Now, now don't be children..." Mycroft rolled his eyes which earned him daggers from Arthur and Sherlock.

"Stay out of this Mycroft. It isn't like you win brother of the year either!" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock, I don't think now is the best time to be arguing--" But John was cut off by someone sniffling off to the side.

They all glanced over at Hugo who had seated himself in Q's chair to look away from his brothers. He was hugging Eames' suit jacket tight around him as he tried to muffle his noises with the sleeve. Mycroft looked away, Sherlock did the same and Arthur looked at the ground, all silenced by their baby brother. James walked over to kneel in front of Hugo. He brought up his thumb to wipe away the tears.

"No more tears, Hugo. We'll find Q. I promise." James made sure Hugo looked him in the eyes. Hugo sniffled and nodded, hugging James tightly. There was a sudden flare of static from James' ear piece.

"Double-oh-seven, here. What is it, sir?"

"Double-oh-seven, we have satellite readings of the estate you are currently held hostage in. Have you found Q yet?" James looked over at Arthur who seemed to know something. Arthur glanced at James.

"Heard a gunshot a while ago and then my brother's screams. We have to go find him _now._ " Arthur stressed, his fists tightening. Eames moved over to pull him into a hug to try and calm him down.

"A shot fired, possible injuries sustained."

"Looks like more than just a few bodies. We have Moneypenny out there getting us some photos and it's looking grim. The house is surrounded by men with guns."

"And we are out in the middle of a large estate, practically unarmed. I think I've dealt with worse, sir." James mused, Mycroft cleared his throat and everyone turned to look at him.

"Not entirely unarmed, Agent Bond. Follow me." Mycroft gestured to a panel of wall and looked at Sherlock. "Well don't just stand there. It takes two to open the door, Sherly."

"Pfft, Sherly..." Arthur snorted as Sherlock glared at Mycroft for saying such a name. He walked over and  helped his brother push the panel into the wall, it slowly creaked and swung up to reveal a stair case as old light bulbs flickered on.

"Gentleman, watch your step." Mycroft advised, leading the way down. James paused his conversation with M to pick up Hugo and follow everyone else down the stair case. Sherlock was the last to enter, making sure the door shut tightly behind them.

\--

There was ragged breathing and a pained scream from Q as "Fantasma" dug his fingers into the bullet wound in Q's leg. Q could feel his fingers rooting around and scraping through muscle, nerve and tissue. A staggered choking noise cracked through Q's dry throat as the bullet was toyed with against the bone. The pain burst like hot flames through his leg and he fisted the sheets until his knuckles were white.

"This should be ample punishment for wasting my--I mean, Silva's time, little Q."

Q's head could barely process the words exiting that snakes mouth, much less form a witty comeback with so much pain. Then suddenly "Fantasma" stopped and pulled out his fingers, strands of blood sticky between his fingers.

"You know, Silva was a great man, he knew how to really get in _deep_ and really into the _heart_ of things. Like a _burning_ fire!" He used his bloody fingers to gesture to his chest and Q's eyes slowly followed the hand as it was placed on his chest and slowly slid down his body while leaving tacky red trails down his white shirt. Never in Q's life did he want to bite into a cyanide capsule more than anything at this very moment the lower that hand went down his torso. "Fantasma" stopped his hand above Q's stomach, just above the waist band of his trousers.

"And you seem to be the _heart_ of Mr. Bond. So...I think I'd like to try and _burn_ that heart out of him, little Q."

It only took a flick of his trouser button being opened to make the bile rise in Q's throat. He could picture the cyanide capsule in his head but then all he could see was Silva's sunken face and rotted teeth, smiling at him.

\--

As the Holmes brothers and company ventured down deeper into the depths under the house, Mycroft came to an unexpected stop in the dank, dirty stair way. Bolted tight into the old cracked walls was a grated metal door with the white paint unchipped and sparkling new against the yellow glare of the light bulbs. Across the door's lock was a palm reader. The use of newer technology was a stark contrast to the old hand cut, stone steps or the flickering yellow light bulbs stung along the wall.

"Well someone made unexpected renovations." Mycroft said in mild surprise, looking up at the camera staring down at them. Sherlock peered down and glared at Mycroft.

"Just open it!"

"I can't Sherly, this isn't _my_ doing. It's Q's." Mycroft rolled his eyes at Sherlock. Arthur quirked an eyebrow at the mention of his twin.

"Q? What does he have to do with dad's gun vault?" Mycroft sighed at Arthur's question.

"Well, dear father bestowed it to whomever would actually use it. I didn't need it, Sherlock is a menace with any firearm and well..." Mycroft glanced at Arthur.

"Right. Murder, treason, and wanted by the FBI." Arthur groaned as Eames gave him a one arm hug and a kiss to the cheek.

"Don't forget the CIA, MI-6, we're not all that bad, love." Eames hummed proudly as Arthur half heartedly pushed at him.

" _Anyway_ that just left Q and by then he was already in MI-6 and with Hugo being far too young..." Mycroft trailed off, seeing there was nothing else needing a further explanation.

"So Q didn't refuse?" James asked, trying to get a closer look. Hugo tried to lean up closer on James' shoulders to look at the camera.

"Obviously not. This door never use to be here and he certainly never informed me of the changes. Not that he would." James looked up as Mycroft spoke, the camera suddenly whizzed and whirred.

" _Agent Double-oh-seven..._ " spoke a synthetic voice, it sounded a lot like Q.

"Yes?" James asked without a second thought. There were a few clicks and beeps.

" _Body scans completed. Please place your hand on the palm reader, if you'd be so kind._ " James did as he was told and a red line of light scanned his palm. With a loud click the door opened and they all stood bewildered.

"Jesus, Q is just as flashy as you Sherlock..." Arthur said dryly, Sherlock ignored the comment, but was silently impressed by the stunt as they all continued down.

"So if your brother Q put that door in, what else do you think he did?" John asked to Sherlock,  he looked down at John and shrugged.

"I think..I know..." James spoke slowly as they descended upon a steel framed wall with bullet proof glass panels. Florescent lights flickered on to reveal dark, polished wood cabinets filled to the brim with firearms and weapons. It was like a candy store for most of the party standing in front of its massive steel doors.

"Merry Christmas..." John said with a smile.

"And a Happy New Year..." Lestrade gawked.

Before James  could reach for the doors they made a quick whizz, click, beep and slid open without his assistance. The voice over the sound system was most definitely Q, pre-recorded messages too, he was always steps ahead of the game.

" _Congratulations Agent Double-oh-seven. It seems you've found my father--well, my gun vault. If you are down here that means something has gone wrong and you are in need of its services..._ " James set Hugo down and looked down the room. Concrete floors in a long rectangular concrete room with freshly polished wooden cabinets lining both sides. Their handles were shiny brass with bullet-proof glass windows on each cabinet door that were all untouched by a single fingerprint. On the opposite end were large metal lockers with a long, single slat bench running down the middle of the room to separate the gun cabinets on either side.

" _I can only assume you aren't alone and you will find the necessary armor in the lockers opposite you. To your sides are refurbished, custom firearms I had my brother help me fix. There is also a cabinet with your name on it._ " Arthur stared in amazement, a flood of nostalgia hitting him as he inspected each gun. Even Eames smiled to himself as he noticed one gun after another that he had watched, or helped, Arthur refurbish between jobs.

" _Good luck Agent Double-oh-seven. For further details please consult the console in the corner._ "

James smiled and loosened his tie.

"Q, you right clever bastard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know how to go about my age rating for this when it implies...hrmm...  
> So I changed it to 'M' just in case.


	7. Sound of the Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actual action and an actual light at the end of the tunnel.

James had strapped the last of the body armor on and flexed his hands in the special prototype kevlar gloves. He rolled his shoulders to get a feel for the bullet proof vest and moved his toes in the combat boots. The double-oh agent could be nothing but impressed with Q's lightweight designs. Though they would never fit under a tuxedo, James could still see himself packing these along just in case. He looked over his new Walther, not palm coded, but still effective. Though James wasn't a high-tech sort of man he did know a thing or two about how technology, now a days, was getting slimmer and more powerful and Q was not afraid to implement such tactics to his toys.

Every gun in that refurbished gun vault had been stripped down and reworked from the base up to be lighter, more powerful, more accurate.

"I always wondered why he would keep sending me guns to re-work for him." Arthur stood off to the side next to Eames, both suited up in the same protection as James.

"He sent them to _you?_ " It was no longer a mystery as to where Q kept getting his new guns from and Arthur cocked a smile.

"Like my work, huh? Made sure to keep them as clean cut as possible. My brother wanted them better, I made them better. I even got to pick apart a flint lock pistol a few years back."

"Oh, you loved that thing. Fawned over it day and night, love." Eames smiled and Arthur rolled his eyes. Eames laughed and checked over the assault rifle in his hands.

"Too bad we can't get these kinds of toys for the force. Even the lighter kevlar is nicer than what we have." Lestrade swiveled his torso to get an overall feel for the vest.

"Well, Lestrade, if your force was more competent _maybe_ yo--ow!" Sherlock glared at John's elbow digging into his side. Kevlar or no kevlar, John's elbow cut into that bony bits of Sherlock's rib cage. It did manage to shut the consulting detective up and John continued to strap on a small medical bag around his waist.

"You also don't have the budget for these kinds of things, Greg. This isn't even on MI-6's budget." Mycroft mused from the desk of computer screens, Hugo was quickly tapping away at the keys with his legs dangling over the edge of his seat and unable to touch the ground. James opened a cabinet that had his name carved into a small silver plate on the door.

Inside was another Walther equipped with a palm reader, five other variations of the Walther,  a Walther  sniper and a hunting shotgun. James took the hunting rifle out and looked it over, a dark, almost burnt silver plate had the initials "AB" carved into it.

"It can't be..." James turned back around to get a better look at the rifle. Arthur smiled.

"Oh yeah, Q wanted me to go out into Scotland and look for any pieces in the aftermath of some house explosion. Unfortunately, all I found was a blown to bits house and that name plate."

"Actually, I found the name plate." Eames chimed in, earning and scathing glare from Arthur.

"We _both_ found it. Had to find the same model for that thing though. Took me a while since it's not exactly a common place big game hunting gun."

"Beautiful piece of work though." Eames added.

"Amen to that." Arthur sighed. Lestrade suddenly felt shivers at the intense love for guns Eames and Arthur displayed so openly.

James pulled out a box of .50 calibre shells and loaded the gun. The weight had remained the same, the feel almost carved just for him.

"Thank you, Q." James whispered quietly as he looked over it one last time, spotting a tag dangling from a string. It was beautifully written in calligraphy.

"Merry Christmas..." The entire vault was silent until James closed the cabinet and touched his ear piece.

"Sir, permission to engage hostiles and retrieve the Quartermaster."

"You have back-up, I assume?" M asked, knowing full well who was in that room.

"Yes, sir."

"And it isn't like I can stop you. Permission granted. Clear the house and retrieve Q, in one piece. You have permission to engage any and all hostiles. "

"Sir." James looked at everyone and gestured towards the door.

"We're moving out, you know your positions and the objectives."

\--

There was a sob being choked deep in Q's throat as he tried to smother himself with a pillow. He was curled up into himself as much as his leg would allow, naked from the waist down and trembling. "Fantasma" sat off to the side at the computers, giving instructions to his men. He was sitting back comfortably in the chair, legs propped up on a coffee table pulled closer. His shoes were off, socks gone, shirt left in a heap by the side of the bed, but his trench coat was neatly folded over the back of the chair.

Q could still feel the flares of pain shooting up his spine, his hand slowly groped down his body for a blanket to cover himself. His fingers pressed into new cuts from nails, teeth, a knife used to slowly scrape at his inner thigh, he felt the bruises forming on his sides and down his legs. His fingers were shaking as he grasped at the red blotted sheets and pulled them up to his shoulders.

Soon. Soon they'd save him.

At least that's what he told himself as the sound of gunfire fanned out through the house.

\--

John was crouched low under a window that was promptly blown out with gunfire. John pulled his arm over his head to protect himself from the shards of glass raining down on him like snow. Sherlock walked by across the opening of the window and fired four shots with a pistol before ducking down under the next window and glancing at John who looked flabbergasted.

" _What_ kind of idiot stunt was that?" They both immediately stood up to shoot simultaneously out of the windows, then ducking back down as shots were returned.

"It's not like they would hit me, John." Again, simultaneous standing, shooting, ducking, bickering.

"And if they did?" Stand. Shoot. Duck. Repeat.

"They wouldn't." Stand. Shoot. Duck. Repeat.

"And why the _hell_ not?" John stayed under the window and glared as Sherlock smirked at him.

"Because you would be there to get them first." They both stood immediately and John quickly fired off two rounds into his target and Sherlock's, making the consulting detective grin even more. John rolled his eyes.

"Just move your bloody arse to the next check point." Sherlock was still smiling as he crouched low next to John. John glanced back. They both exited the room with a giggle fit in the midst of gun fire.

\--

"Cairo?" There was a quick snap of a neck from two strong, tattoo covered arms.

"Budapest." Cross hairs were lined up and with a loud blam there was red splattered all over a tree.

"Ooh, you're making me hard all over again, love." Eames chuckled as he quickly ran through the large hedge maze. He dove through a wall and barreled into a gunman, pulling his arm back and breaking it at the joint before hitting him hard in the back of the head to knock him out and steal his gun. Arthur whistled and started to line up another shot from the roof of the house.

"You might want to take a right at the next T-intersection." His fingers caressed the trigger before taking his shot. Eames smiled as the distant sound of gunfire rang in his ears.

"Your right or mine, kitten?" Eames did a dive roll to avoid gun fire, but was showered in blood, bone and brain matter. He grimaced and wiped the mess from his face and looked up at the small speck peeking over the edge of the roof.

"Your condescension--as always--is much appreciated, Arthur. Thank you." He could barely make out Arthur shrugging and vanishing from sight.

"You looked like you were in a bit of trouble. Don't deny it Mr. Eames. And go to _your_ right." Arthur chuckled, keeping one eye on Eames and the other on the dense forest near the end of the estate's massive gardens. Thankfully the forest area was being funneled into the large hedge labyrinth, making it easier for Arthur and Eames to stop back-up from entering.

If only they could use their less than parental guidance required flirting as a deterrence. Mycroft immediately turned down the volume on the computer console for their receiving microphone feed. Every time Hugo tried to turn the volume back up Mycroft would slap his hand away.

\--

James Bond wasn't dressed in a tux and he wasn't carrying a Walther PPK. The Walther PPK was somewhere in the kitchen after James had used it to smack an unsuspecting gunman in the face so Lestrade could tackle him into a wall so James could grab the gun flying from the unconscious mans hands and hold the other gunman, standing behind him, at point blank range. The Walther landed in a fruit basket between an orange and a banana.

Greg Lestrade was not in his usual work suit and trench coat, hair in a semi-manageable state between over worked and bachelor messy. Instead he was in the same kevlar as everyone else, armed with the same pistol, semi-automatic machine gun combination except he was one semi-automatic machine gun short. That was left in the dining room.

After James managed to get one gunman in a choke hold, another came up behind him to put him in the same choke hold. Lestrade had to think fast. MI-6 agent in distress, what is a detective inspector to do when tasked with the opportunity to save a famous MI-6 secret agent?

Mycroft and Hugo could only sigh and cover their eyes with their respective hands as Lestrade essentially stood there, staring at James try to fight off a gunman as he was turning red in the face. Mycroft leaned over to the microphone and clicked the button for Lestrade's ear piece.

"The gun, detective inspector." That seemed to snap Lestrade out of his stupor as he quickly pulled his gun and fired. James stood extremely still, staring back at Lestrade who was staring at him, the gunman falling back dead with a bullet between his eyes. They stood there stunned at how unprofessional and dangerous that spontaneous act was. Then James slowly reached his hand out, leaving it in the air for a handshake. Lestrade slowly reached out and took James' hand and shook it firmly.

"Detective Inspector. Nice shot."

"Thanks--thank you, Agent Bond."

But they silently agreed the machine gun stay in the dining room.

\--

Q wasn't allowed to put his trousers or pants back on as he sat next to "Fantasma" at the computer. He was deathly pale, sitting in a sticky mess of blood and other bodily fluids that made his stomach churn angrily every time he moved even slightly. A large, gloved hand was clamped around the back of his neck tightly as he typed out line after line of code. "Fantasma's" thumb stroked at the back of his neck, right at his hair line and that made Q go rigid, muscles constricted at the intimate gesture he did not want to get intimate with in the slightest.

"Keep going." The hand squeezed harder, making Q squirm and his stomach nauseas as his skin slowly peeled away from the sticky chair. His fingers faltered only slightly, earning him an even tighter squeeze that made his bones creak.

"P-please..."

"Please, what?"

In his usual dramatic fashion, James kicked the doors in, wood splinters flying everywhere. At least that was what Q had imagined, instead he saw two legs through the cloud of dust and wood. Both Sherlock and James stepped forward, James taking the forefront position, his aim steady and his eyes a piercing glare.

"Let the Quartermaster go." James' gaze cast down to look over Q, a fiery lava bubbling away in his stomach when he noticed Q's bare legs blotched with bruises and dried flakes of blood. It took every ounce of MI-6 training, experience and will power to stop himself from running over and beating the ever holy hell out of the man in the trench coat.

Sherlock was even less amused as James. His sharp pale eyes trained on Q, scanning and reading his body for clues.

"Gunshot wound to the left leg." James slowly approached as "Fantasma" stood up to put his clothes back on, a gun trained at Q's head.

"Multiple contusions, possible lacerations, _unconsensual_ sexual assault..." Sherlock seemed to take his time pronouncing the last observation to make sure the rest of his brothers heard that. Well, mostly Arthur who had set up shop with Eames just outside the garden perimeter. Arthur immediately changed his positioning, aiming his scope at the house.

"Well it looks like you have me Agent Bon--" The bed post near "Fantasma's" head shattered. A small hole in the window radiated spider-like veins from the entry point. Arthur scowled from his tree.

"Agent Bond and _friends_." "Fantasma" spoke slowly, glancing out the window. "Perhaps we shall all sit down and have a nice chat, hm?"


	8. End of the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally to the end...

"Agent Bond and _friends_." "Fantasma" spoke slowly, glancing out the window with a soft smile. "Perhaps we shall all sit down and have a nice chat, hm?"

James felt his trigger finger itch to be pulled back against the curved metal he was all too familiar with.

"I'll skip the chat so how about you step away from the _boy_." Q snorted at the comment but his head was too hazy for a rebuttal. Was there always a bright halo around James' head? John had taken his position next to Sherlock and gently nudged the taller man in the side as he watched Q's head sway slightly.

"He's right about to pass out, Sherlock."

"I _know._ " John looked up at Sherlock's clenched jaw then back at "Fantasma" who was adjusting his coat and dusting off his sleeves.

"Oh, no can do Agent Bond. No can do." "Fantasma" smiled and reached over to pull Q up by his hair, making the man cry out in pain from his leg, his lower back, Q wasn't sure anymore. His body weight went full contact when his knees hit the ground first and turning them into jelly from the pain radiating from his leg to the bottom of his spine and up. Q clawed at the ground to try and get up, but "Fantasma" pushed him back down and kept a large boot heel to the crown of his head. James, Sherlock and Arthur were radiating blood lust.

"Information."

James raised a brow and stepped closer.

"Information? Like?" With a sad smile, "Fantasma" gestured out the window.

"To where Raoul Silva was taken." Mycroft watched intently from the gun room. Lestrade stood by him and watched over his shoulder at the feed.

"That's it?" John inquired softly, keeping an eye on Q to gauge his medical condition.

"Well..." "Fantasma" sighed and then gestured to the group in front of him, "and this."

There was a distant sound of gunfire that made John flinch and aim at the broken window now shattering before his eyes. A dark shadow fell past the side of his head and he blinked at a sudden speck of warmth on his face. More gunfire was muffled in the back of his mind. John slowly reached up and dabbed at a small spot near his eye and looked at the tips of his red fingers. In a slow motion state, John looked down to his side to find Sherlock lying on the ground, his white shirt sleeve slowly changing into a bright red. His lower lip quivered as he lost the ability to speak.

In front of John were three more bodies. "Fantasma" on his back, head tilted to the side and his eyes staring into nothing. James kneeling down beside Q, trying to prop him up in a comfortable position to examine his body. Q was barely able to lift his hands to touch at the streak of blood running down the side of James' temple.

John finally snapped out of his trance and quickly got down on his knees to help Sherlock examining the wound and finding a bullet mangled into the vest, a clean wound through Sherlock's arm. The consulting detective groaned more out of annoyance than pain and swatted at John to go help his brother.

The sound was dull in Q's ears as his vision slowly faded into black. The last thing he saw was James and the colour red.

\--

"I _said_ I was SORRY! Jesus Christ, Sherlock." Arthur was clawing at the leather armrests of his chair. James could only try and block the current war of words being slung between siblings with Q in the middle of the war zone, literally.

It was two weeks of work and debriefing and illegal activities later that the Holmes Family and company were situated around a large four poster bed. Q was still on medical leave and bed rest, but that didn't stop him from trying to aid MI-6 to the best of his currently drugged abilities from the comfy Egyptian cotton sheets of his bed. Q was currently sitting up against the headboard on the closest side to James. Hugo had tucked himself under his brother's arm and watched his brothers bicker.

"You _shot_ me, Arthur. Do you think I would let this go? Oh, that's right. You _don't_ think!!" Sherlock's arm was in a sling and by all accounts back to his usual self. John was rolling his eyes and gently tugging Sherlock back down to sit whenever the other took the chance to stand and angrily project himself towards Arthur. Arthur was sitting across from Sherlock, Q's bed the no man's land, and vehemently asking for forgiveness. Sort of.

"It wasn't like I was _aiming_ to kill you!! You try being held at gun point and told to shoot at your family and we'll see how you handle that situation!" Eames was all smiles as he sat back in his cushy leather seat next to Arthur and read the paper.

"Don't be an ass, Sherlock! Arthur could have killed you if he wanted to, but he didn't! You should be thanking him for being so quick on his feet against that guy!" Hugo glared at Sherlock who glared back in return, but that turned into a childish scowl when Q glared at him.

"We should all be lucky we are all present today in the first place." Mycroft spoke nonchalantly while sipping his tea and tapping away at his phone. He was right and Sherlock knew it. "Fantasma" had truly wanted to know what MI-6 had done with Silva's body, but not without a bloody end to it all. Two stray gunman had gotten Eames and Arthur by surprise, a part of "Fantasma's" plan. He was to have Arthur slay James but didn't take into account the white hot fury that was Arthur and his extraordinary brother complex. It didn't hurt he and Sherlock never saw eye to eye so shooting him instead of James was a (tiny) bonus. The shot fired gave him enough time to disarm the man behind him, giving Eames an opening to take down his own with a swift kick out of the tree stand they were on.

With Sherlock down, that left "Fantasma" surprised by James still standing and wasn't quick enough to draw again the double-oh agent. "Fantasma" still managed to hit James, a bullet graze against the temple, but nothing worse while "Fantasma" was awarded with a bullet between the eyes.

Mycroft and Lestrade sat at the foot of the bed with a small coffee table pulled between them so they could enjoy tea. Q adjusted his glasses and looked at his elder brother.

"So that's it then. The rest of Silva's groups are being handled as we speak?" Mycroft nodded sagely and smiled.

"Well it was decided MI-6 would handle the few remaining groups, you know how it is. Making the child clean up their own mess sort of deal." Q rolled his eyes and looked at James, reaching up to gently caress the bandaged temple.

"And you aren't there, Agent Double-oh-seven?" James smiled and kissed Q's wrist making Arthur's boiling blood fizz and pop even more.

"Medical leave." Q rolled his eyes and kisses James' forehead, Sherlock  turned his head away in disgust.

"Excuses." Q chided playfully.

Medical leave means helping Q cope, but Q realized he didn't need as much coping as he had thought. Yes, he has nightmares and he can still feel those hands on his body when he sometimes closes his eyes, but ever since that day he has had people who care for him by his side. Not just James, sometimes two or three visitors. This was the longest Sherlock has even breathed the same general air as Arthur and much to Q's surprise this was the longest his twin had willingly stayed in one place let alone the same country.

If Christmas Eve had taught him anything, it wasn't being more thorough in wiping out the remaining regiments of an ex-double-oh-turned-rogue agent or that he should learn to keep a gun on his person, it was that no matter how ridiculous or childish, or annoying your family may be at gatherings they are still your family. And by some miracle this family was able to ban together and stay alive, hopefully long enough for next Christmas Eve dinner. That's if they can manage to make it to tomorrow.

"I will end you. Right here, _RIGHT NOW_." Arthur was now climbing over the bed with his tunnel vision set on one target and one target alone. Sherlock was the same, his scarf removed and stepping onto the bed with his sights set on punching Arthur for Queen and Country. Q stared in disbelief and tried his best and squirm out of bed, James quickly took the initiative and pulled him out of the way just in the nick of time. Eames slowly folded up his newspaper and got up from his chair to grab Arthur and sling him over his shoulder for a walk. Sherlock mocked Arthur, saying he was running away, until Hugo stood up on the bed and kicked Sherlock in the shin. Mycroft sighed and apologized to Lestrade for how horrible his brothers were acting, ignoring the sudden rush of wind as Arthur, now free of Eames' grasp, got back onto the bed to tackle Sherlock. 

They all spent the rest of the day semi-civil with one another, but deep down enjoyed each others company even if it meant a few black eyes. Just another day in the life of the Holmes family and their poor, unsuspecting companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I didn't really want the bad guy to be MAIN Main part of the story some time ago which is why he's sort of a wishy-washy sort of one dimensional side character. I wanted to focus on the Holmes family and company and their interactions.
> 
> I'm sorry you had to suffer through this horribly written story ;A; But I hope it still brought you some sort of mild amusement.


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